When you bad-mouth a movie while leaving the multiplex, it’ is unlikely that Nicole Kidman or Quentin Tarantino are around to take offense. But at the theater, the many people involved in putting on a show — directors, designers, producers, understudies — all tend to be close by during the first weeks of performances, not to mention their supportive friends and family.
That is why critics and other industry folks tend to stroll a safe distance away before spouting off, following something like a two-block rule, depending on who you ask. (In a bustling city like New York, I usually think a block is fine.) After sitting quietly for 100-odd minutes or more, gabbing about what you have seen is a knee-jerk impulse. And what kind of professional drama queen doesn’t want to have the most talked-about show in town?
Well, that depends on what audiences have to say. Obviously, gushing with praise is always welcome. But more prickly insights may warrant some reticence.
“You wouldn’t go to someone’s house and trash their cooking, so why would you do that in a theater?” says Diep Tran, the editor in chief of Playbill. It’s a small industry and anyone could be listening, so Tran considers waiting to dish until reaching at least beyond the building’s marquee as both a matter of professional decorum and common courtesy. Theaters are creative homes, where collaborators invite guests (albeit at a price) to consume what they have made, so the dinner party metaphor is apt. And it includes keeping an open mind until the final course. “Don’t judge a show at intermission,” Tran adds. “It can always turn around.”
Even a tiny playhouse might as well be a Gilded Age mansion for how many people contribute to operations, not only of what’s seen onstage, but also how audiences navigate the building. “Even if the show is not your favorite, you still have to appreciate and respect the work of everyone involved,” says Michael Composto, general manager at Broadway’s Eugene O’Neill Theatre, home to “The Book of Mormon.” Ushers and other theater staff — who are used to seeing productions come and go — may not take your feedback personally, but others probably will.
“If you’re at the stage door in earshot of the actors, I wouldn’t be talking about how the show stunk,” Composto adds.
Commentary is likely to be overheard by production staff pretty much anywhere in the theater, including the restroom and bar lines, lobby areas and even your seat. Some technical departments set up cameras and microphones out front so they can monitor the show, which can also pick up audience chatter. Crew members also overhear plenty in person, as their jobs require them to rove around or watch the performance.
“People don’t really understand that there’s a lot of performers, dance captains, stage managers and others who are in the house during the show,” says Chris Leary, a costumer on Broadway’s “Death Becomes Her.” (Back when Leary worked on “Wicked,” he recalls someone complaining that Dr. Dillamond, the talking goat, promoted Satanism.) “It almost feels like you’re like a double agent, because no one knows you’re involved,” Leary adds, and most backstage crew don’t wear identifying clothing aside from the occasional tool belt.
For creatives who would rather steer clear of the hubbub, intermission can be a minefield. “You never want to go to the bathroom, because you’ll always find people saying ‘This is horrible’ or ‘I love it’ or ‘I hope it gets better,’” says longtime Broadway director Scott Ellis (“Art,” “Take Me Out”), adding, “’I’ll never get that two and a half hours back in my life.’ I don’t know what show that was, but I definitely remember hearing that.”
Could the outer limits of the two-block rule extend even farther, including beneath the streets? Broadway performer JJ Niemann can recall riding the subway with people holding Playbills and discussing every show he has done, which include “Hamilton” and “Back to the Future.” “A lot of actors are taking trains to the boroughs at the same time that you are,” Niemann points out. Expecting folks to keep mum while barreling home underground may be too much to ask, but Niemann, who has nearly half a million followers on Instagram, says encountering negative talk in person hits closer than online.
“We know when something isn’t working — and if not, the comments section on the internet will tell you,” Neimann says. “But hearing people say that kind of stuff in real life feels a little different.”
Take it from Andrew Lloyd Webber: The only way for showpeople to navigate the theater district is with a sense of humor. The “Cats” megacomposer recently shared an anecdote with the crowd at a student production of “The Phantom of the Opera” in London: He had been dining at a Broadway-area cafe, where he overheard a mother ask her unruly little boy whether he wanted to see an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. “No!” the boy cried.
“Behave yourself then!” the mother warned.
At neighborhood restaurants, where Playbills litter the tables and Broadway pros are regulars, patrons sit shoulder-to-shoulder with industry folks all the time. “Often you’ll see something happening that’s more like, well, the director is sitting there, but they don’t know what he looks like,” says Mary Hattman, general manager of mainstay hangouts including Joe Allen and Bar Centrale.
Over the years, Hattman has advised servers and hosts to stay nimble and avoid hot water. “Customers can say whatever they want to say,” as far as Hattman is concerned. “But if they’re going to ask, ‘Did you see it? What do you think?’ my instruction to staff is that you can always say something positive. It’s not our job to be critics.”
(Funny thing is, the walls of Joe Allen are lined with posters for notorious flops. “Those are okay for everybody to discuss, because they’re long gone and take pride in being on the wall,” Hattman adds. “But nobody needs bad advertising while they’re trying to get a show going.”)
On the other hand, immediate audience reactions may actually fall on eager ears. “At a lot of my shows, you’ll find me standing in the lobby listening to those comments,” says Ken Davenport, producer of the Neil Diamond musical “A Beautiful Noise.” “I get the most exciting feedback that way, because it’s raw and unfiltered.” During preview performances, before a production officially opens to reviews, shows are still in rehearsal and continuing to make changes. Audience reactions can play a part in shaping the process, similar to test-screening results for a film.
In fact, the late book writer Peter Stone (“1776,” “Titanic”) took creative notes from audience patter, according to his friend Michael Riedel, former longtime theater columnist for the New York Post and author of dishy Broadway histories “Razzle Dazzle” and “Singular Sensation.” “Peter always said you can fix a first act based on hanging out in the lobby or with the smokers outside, because no one knows who you are,” Riedel recalls. The problem with fixing second acts is that no one sticks around to spill their thoughts.
When they do, Riedel insists that audiences have every right to say whatever they want — and that silly rules only apply to critics and insiders. “Do you think the person who shelled out $500 cares if the aunt of the understudy is there that night?” Riedel asks. “They don’t care — and they shouldn’t care. They paid the money.”
In the best-case scenario, a show ignites acclaim, and everyone involved — producers, especially — hope to fan the flames, as being part of an ebullient crowd prompts audiences to broadcast their excitement. “Word of mouth is never stronger than the moment after they’ve had the experience. You don’t want to bottle that up — you want people to explode,” Davenport says. “Nowadays, what you really want is people to bury their head in their phone,” to share their enthusiasm online.
For theater folks, immersing themselves in postshow chitchat means taking the good with the bad, similar to deciding to read reviews. One kiss of death? “The thing I don’t like to hear is, ‘Oh, it’s cute,’ Davenport says. “No one is rushing out to buy ‘cute.’”
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